Even God Is Guilty
by Lif61
Summary: Set during the end of season 11, God tries telling Sam he doesn't have to be afraid of Lucifer while he's around.


**A/N: I've been wanting to write this for awhile, and it's based off of a panel in which Jared Padalecki said that originally near the end of season 11 there was a scene he filmed with Rob Benedict where God was telling Sam he didn't have to be afraid of Lucifer while he was around and Sam explained that he would always be afraid. Sadly the scene got cut, and this is just my take on what it might've been like. Not sure if I added more angst than the show would've or if I even hit the write tone, but I felt like I had to write it.**

* * *

Lucifer was in the bunker. Lucifer was in Sam's _room_. He knew why he'd specifically chosen his room. It was to terrify him, to kick him out of the space he'd claimed as his, maybe to even go through his stuff. Even with deciding to work with them Lucifer couldn't get enough of taking things from him, of tormenting him and leaving him with nothing.

But maybe it was okay he had his room. It wasn't like Sam could sleep anyway.

Chuck, well… _God_ noticed. How could he not?

Everyone had retired to bed and Lucifer was doing… Chuck knew what in his room (he shuddered just thinking about it) and he was having a drink. His eyes felt dry and his body ached, a sign that he needed sleep, but whenever he closed his eyes for more than a second a jolt of fear ran down his spine, setting his body alight with adrenaline, the feeling so sharp and sudden that each time it was injected into him it felt like his heart might burst. And then his heart would race, he would sweat, and it was a struggle to breathe. So no, he wasn't going to sleep. Not while Lucifer was around. Dean had offered to let him crash in his room, had suggested he take one of the spare bedrooms, but he just couldn't do it. He couldn't. What if Lucifer came to him in the night? What if he wasn't ready to fight back?

 _You couldn't fight back even if you tried,_ Sam told himself bitterly.

He was having these dark thoughts in the library, thinking maybe he should get drunk (the universe _was_ ending after all) when Chuck came to him.

"I know why you can't sleep," He said, sitting down across from him.

Sam took a sip from the bottle, and then leaned back in his chair, letting out a sigh.

"Kinda figured."

"He can't hurt you, you know. Not while I'm here."

Sam gave him a wry smirk. "Sure."

God leaned forward, placing His arms on the table, and at that moment Sam was struck by how unimpressive He looked. He was shorter than him by a little over half a foot, skinnier than him, and His curly hair looked unruly. This was the all-powerful being he'd prayed to? The being who'd stayed away? The one who had wanted to give up and let His sister destroy everything? And now He was telling him Lucifer couldn't hurt him while He was around? Sam didn't believe it. He wanted to, oh, how he wanted to. Faith was what kept him going, faith and hope and his family, and now it looked like he was going to lose all that. His faith was already being brutally tested, and now this?

"I won't let him. Look, I know about the Cage."

Sam looked away, wiping a hand over his face. "Oh, you do, do you?"

"I know what he did was… unimaginable, and-"

"Why didn't you stop him?" Sam interrupted.

"Sam, I-"

Sam broke Him off with a huff that might have almost been a laugh, yet it spoke of pain rather than humor. "Look, God, no offense, but-"

"Chuck."

"Okay, fine, Chuck. No offense, but I don't believe you. You didn't do anything to help me when I was down there _for centuries_ and _now_ you say Lucifer won't touch me? That's bull and you know it. He…" He looked away, taking in a shaky breath, feeling his throat tighten, the corners of his exhausted eyes begin to sting. "He…" Oh god, he couldn't get the next words out. It would make it true. But it was true. All the memories that kept him up at night, sometimes made him forget where he was, and hurt him every single goddamn day, spoke of it being real. His scarred soul was proof that it was real. But… To say it? His upper lip trembled and tears started running down his cheeks as he turned back to God. "He _ruined_ me. Do you _get_ that? He ruined me. A-and you t-think you can j-just tell me it's _okay_?"

"Sam, I didn't say that."

"Y-you said he can't hurt me while you're here, but you kn-know what? He's in my fucking room. _That_ hurts. He's _here_. _That_ hurts. It _all_. _Hurts_."

To Sam's surprise Chuck didn't look upon him with pity as he'd expected. It was with compassion and profound guilt. It was enough to make Sam take another sip of his beer and try draining half the bottle.

God lowered His head. "I messed up, Sam. I know I did. I know. And to you, that's a complete understatement. I failed you, and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. And I _know_ sorry doesn't fix this. How could it?"

"You know what would fix it?" Sam asked bitterly.

"Please," God said. "Tell me how I can help you."

"You go back in time and you never make the Mark, for starters," he said, pressing a finger down on the table with enough force to hurt his knuckle. "And _then_ you never make me his vessel."

"Sam-"

"Chuck, I _prayed_ to you, before I knew about angels and-and Heaven, during the Apocalypse, in… in the Cage, when I was hallucinating. Even _now_. And do you know who _answered_ those prayers? After all those _years_ of silence, do you know who answered them?" he asked.

He knew God knew the answer to his last question, but the being across from him remained silent, as if He knew Sam had to speak.

"It was _Lucifer_ ," he answered. "The Devil. So, I mean this as respectfully as possible, but please, don't… don't say he can't hurt me. He can. A-and maybe you're actually right and he won't hurt me again, but you know what? You don't just _forget_ being… being his… his _plaything_ , his toy - _his_. He scares me, Chuck. He'll always scare me, and frankly, there's nothing you can do about it. You lost that chance years ago."

Sam didn't want to hear what else God had to say. He didn't care. He just wanted to finish his beer in peace, find a quiet room - one with only one entrance so he could watch for Lucifer - and stay there till morning, maybe till Dean was up, maybe till someone came and got him.

He'd wanted to believe in God, and maybe part of him still did and still loved Him, but He'd failed him, and an apology wasn't going to do anything. It didn't erase what he'd been through. His presence wasn't enough to drive out the fear that lived within him and tried to consume him at every waking moment. It just wasn't enough, 'cause Lucifer was in the bunker, and Lucifer was in his room, and Lucifer was in his soul. And what was there left to do when even God Himself was guilty?


End file.
